22. A NERVOUS BRIDE (1973)

 STRESS, SUCCESS AND EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN

The Highs and Lows of A Woman’s Journey in the Corporate World

A NERVOUS BRIDE (1973)

CARE: This is Chapter 22 of my book Stress, Success and Everything In-Between. These are individual anecdotes but to understand the professional journey in totality, I would recommend reading the book from Chapter 01 onwards.

The training programme at Hyderabad was over on the 3rd of February 1973, and I was back in Faizabad to resume the on-the-job training on the 5th of February.

The wedding venue was ready.

Meanwhile, my parents had  fixed the date of my wedding. Only 17 days were left before the wedding day, and a lot had to be done, including the grant of leave. I found it quite challenging as the Branch Manager was known to be very strict about sanctioning leave to anyone, even for a day. I could appreciate his compulsions subsequently when I myself became a Branch head. But at that time, it was simply terrifying to approach him for sanction of leave.

The D-day was approaching fast, and my mother would call me daily to confirm whether I had applied for leave. However, I could not write the leave application, as I found it embarrassing to mention marriage as the reason for my leave.

Finally, I started writing, “As I am getting married, I shall be grateful if you kindly grant me leave for three weeks with effect from....” 

Oh no! It is so embarrassing. Will they make tongue-in-cheek comments if they knew that I was getting married? Will they tease me? They all appear to be so conscious of my gender. I was always uncomfortable feeling their gaze on my back: I had even started covering my back with the saree while in the office. How can I let everyone know 

I tore the half-written application, and threw it in the dustbin.

Unable to withstand the continuous pressure from my mother, I finally wrote an application, "I have some urgent domestic commitments to fulfil and shall, therefore, be grateful if you kindly grant me leave for 20 days with effect from...," and quietly handed it over in the Secretariat of the Branch Manager.

Within a few minutes, the Head Messenger of the Branch, in his crisp white uniform and red and gold turban, was at my desk, saying courteously, "Bade sahib is requesting your presence".

  

As I entered his room, the Branch Manager growled, “You want leave for three weeks? Why?” 

“I have some urgent work at home. It is important,” I replied with a straight face. 

“Urgent work? What urgent work? Huh! You are still in your probation period. You are not to even dream of taking leave. Why do you need such a long leave?” His voice was loud and brusque, and my heart sank.

“Sir, It is some important work at home. My parents want me there,” I said as I looked at the floor. 

“Hmmm… I cannot recommend leave for you for more than a week. You bring another application for six days only.” He threw away the application, and I caught it mid-air before it fell on the floor. 

He was furious that an officer, a mere probationer, had applied for leave for some vague reason like an urgent piece of work, and that too even without discussing it in advance. Frustrated that the ploy which had worked with the Principal of the DWT College in Dehra Dun in July 1970, did not work in the Bank and humiliated at his rude behaviour, I left the room to write down another application requesting leave for only six days, starting from the wedding date. On his recommendations, the Head Office sanctioned me leave for six days for urgent personal work.

The sanction came after ten days. The Branch Manager again called me, “Head Office has sanctioned your leave. But you dare not extend it after it is over. You have to come back immediately after the leave. Otherwise…” He gave me a nasty look with a veiled threat. 

“Yes, sir,” I nodded compliantly and left the room.

 

Two days before I was to proceed on leave, my mother sent me a packet containing a few wedding invitation cards for distribution to my colleagues and friends in the office. Well, it was a tough job for me. How could I go around telling people, “Hey guys? Here is some great news! I am soon going to get married. Do come to my wedding and see me standing there in a red saree with my head covered and eyes downcast.” 

My mother called me again the next day, “I had sent you a few invitation cards. Have you distributed them? How many of your colleagues are likely to attend the wedding? Any stay arrangements required for them?”

“No, Mummy. I have not done it so far. But I will do it today. I do not think anybody will come to Lucknow,” I replied. Although I told my mother that I would distribute the cards, I knew I would not do so. Mulling over it overnight, I found a solution. I tore off all the invitation cards and quietly consigned them to the dustbin. 

I reached Lucknow on the morning of the wedding day. There was nobody to receive me at the railway station as the family had gone to Charbagh railway station to receive the baraat (the wedding party) since their train was scheduled to reach Lucknow around the same time as mine but at another railway station.

 

I hailed a rickshaw and reached home. The household was bustling with activity. The call bell was ringing every two minutes. Relatives, lugging their suitcases, were arriving one after the other. The menfolk mostly sat outside on the chairs on the lawn. They were basking in the sun, sipping tea and discussing politics. Inside, women were singing wedding songs on the beats of the dholak. 

 

Seeing me, my mother instructed me to change immediately from jeans and a shirt to an ethnic salwar kameez. Seven married women were ready with Haldi and Chandan Ubtan. They were to apply this paste on my face and limbs within the auspicious time. I shrank at the idea: I never liked the strong smell of mustard oil, one of the ingredients in the paste. The womenfolk seemed to enjoy the ritual and took their own sweet time leisurely rubbing the paste on my limbs, singing auspicious songs. 

Amidst all the holy confusion, my father walked into the room. He looked grim and waved at me a pink paper. I could see it was a telegram. But why did he want to show it to me? So many congratulatory messages were pouring in from friends and relatives. What was so special about this telegram? Seeing him, the women stopped applying ubtan. Without uttering a word, he handed over the telegram to me with a straight face. Reading it, I was shocked. 

“IN VIEW OF THE CALL FOR STRIKE GIVEN BY THE ALL-INDIA EMPLOYEES UNION IT HAS BEEN DECIDED TO CANCEL THE LEAVE SANCTIONED TO YOU FROM 23RD FEB TO 28TH FEB 1973 (STOP) PLEASE REPORT FOR DUTY FORTHWITH REPEAT FORTHWITH (STOP) PERSONNEL MANAGER (STOP).” 

 

I looked at my father helplessly, “What do I do now?”

“You tell me. It is your bank.” He sounded grim.

“Do I have to return to Faizabad now?” I asked in a voice so edgy and nervous that my father could not continue with the poker face he was trying to maintain.

He smiled reassuringly, "Do not worry! I have already spoken to the Secretary and Treasurer of your bank in Kanpur. He apologised for this and said there must be some misunderstanding somewhere. Let her proceed with her marriage plans as scheduled. Yes, one more thing. He has asked me to convey his good wishes to you. He has also sanctioned you leave for one month. He will inform the branch. Did you not mention marriage as the reason when asking for leave?"

 

I lowered my eyes. I knew I was responsible for the mess. My father was busy and moved on without waiting for my response.

 

The women resumed singing the auspicious songs and applying the sandalwood-turmeric paste on my arms.

(To be continued....)

*****

21. ON HOLDING HANDS OF A COLLEAGUE (1973)

STRESS, SUCCESS AND EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN
The Highs and Lows of A Woman’s Journey in the Corporate World

ON HOLDING HANDS OF A COLLEAGUE (1973)

   CARE: This is Chapter 21 of my book Stress, Success and Everything In-Between. These are individual anecdotes but to understand the professional journey in totality, I would recommend reading the book from Chapter 01 onwards.

During the Intermediate Training Programme, a Senior Faculty member was leading a post-lunch session on Cash Handling Procedures in the branch. Unfortunately, the subject was mundane and unexciting. It was compounded by the participants' drowsiness after a hearty lunch.

After the session, during the question-and-answer session, an enthusiastic participant posed an intriguing query. He asked, "In the Strong Room, when all the cash is spread out on the table before the joint custodians, and a sudden power outage occurs, how does one ensure that the other custodian hasn't surreptitiously pocketed a few packets of notes?"

The seasoned faculty member was probably used to such questions. He responded with a confident smile, "Good question! According to the Bank's Book of Instructions, in the event of a blackout, the joint custodians are expected to immediately hold each other's hands and maintain this contact until the power is restored or a lamp is brought in."

Not fully satisfied, the inquisitive learner again inquired, "What if one of the joint custodians happens to be a woman?"           

This jolted all the lethargic sleepyheads into alertness. The confident faculty member was momentarily taken aback. He mulled over the question and admitted that the Bank's historic Book of Instructions offered no guidance for such an eventuality. As these instructions were written more than two centuries ago, with no female presence in the Bank, such a scenario had not been envisaged. He promised to contact the Central Office to request the necessary clarification for addressing such a situation.

It was evident that the Bank would now need to adapt and change some of its rules and regulations with the entry of female officers.

(To be continued....)

*****

20. YAY! WE ARE ACCEPTED (1973)

STRESS, SUCCESS AND EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN
The Highs and Lows of A Woman’s Journey in the Corporate World

YAY! WE ARE ACCEPTED (1973)  

CARE: This is Chapter 20 of my book Stress, Success and Everything In-Between. These are individual anecdotes but to understand the professional journey in totality, I would recommend reading the book from Chapter 01 onwards.

As the number of women in the bank increased, the need for developing dedicated infrastructure and support systems became increasingly apparent. The seeds of this change were sown in January 1973 when five of us, the women officers from Kanpur Circle, were sent to Hyderabad to attend the Intermediate Programme at the Staff College. Upon our arrival, we were pleasantly surprised to meet five more women officers from different parts of the country, taking our number to ten. Our visibility in the set-up suddenly increased.

It was a momentous occasion, and our arrival at the Staff College at Hyderabad marked the beginning of an era of transformation. The ten of us collectively became change agents for the bank.

In Hyderabad, the college authorities recognized the significance of this development and took a step forward. They erected a distinct partition that physically separated the women's rooms from the rest of the hostel area. Today, when having mixed hostels is a trend, one can raise eyebrows and express divergent views about the need for having a separate wing for women officers. But this simple gesture symbolized the need for a supportive environment to cater to the unique requirements of women in the workforce.

What began as a temporary arrangement in the form of the Women's Wing in 1973 has endured for over fifty years. This is a testament to the lasting commitment of the bank towards gender diversity and inclusivity.

INTERMEDIATE PROG. FOR PROBATIONARY OFFICERS (3rd Jan to 3rd Feb 1973)

   As time moved and the number of women within the organization increased, the infrastructure and facilities created for them began to reflect the broader cultural shift within the organization. And this was a great sign indicating acceptance of women as a workforce in the bank. And this continues to date. 

     (To be continued.....)

*****

19. SHHH... A SECRET ACHIEVEMENT (1973)

 STRESS, SUCCESS AND EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN

The Highs and Lows of A Woman’s Journey in the Corporate World

SHHH... A SECRET ACHIEVEMENT (1973)

CARE: This is Chapter 19 of my book Stress, Success and Everything In-Between. These are individual anecdotes but to understand the professional journey in totality, I would recommend reading the book from Chapter 01 onwards.

In the early part of 1973, I landed up at the Faizabad Branch of the Bank, which was housed in an old sprawling building constructed in quintessential British style with grand arches and a façade painted in a typical shade of biscuit-yellow.

When I met the Branch Manager, he directed an officer from his secretariat to introduce me to the rest of the employees. Moving around the multiple rooms in the branch and getting introduced to the staff members, I noticed there was not a single female employee in the office. I was not surprised: this is what I had expected.

As soon as the introductions were over, I was assigned to the Savings Bank section of the Bank. All of a sudden, it hit me that I was the solitary woman in an otherwise male-dominated banking hall where all the colleagues, as well as the customers, were men - men at the counter, men across the counter, men behind me, men on the left and men on the right. I became aware that all eyes were glued to me. This was the first time in the long history of the branch that a woman had been posted there. I felt highly conscious of the glaring eyes and spontaneously pulled the pallu of my saree over my back and wrapped it tightly over my right shoulder as if to save myself from their unabashed stares.

It was a cold winter morning, and without thinking of its repercussions, I kept gulping cup after cup of hot tea, maybe to relieve my anxiety in a new place. In no time, my primal need compelled me to look around for the basic necessity called the washroom. Soon, the urge became stronger. I recalled while taking the round of the branch in the morning, I had not spotted any such facility.

I was the only female employee in the branch: who should I ask, I wondered. It was embarrassing to ask a male colleague about the location of the toilet. Had this happened today, I would have walked up to anyone and enquired about it. But in those days, it was considered a big taboo. Thinking about it for some time, I decided to ask AC, a fellow Probationary Officer who had been posted there longer than me and was familiar with the layout of the branch.

I gathered courage, walked up to his table with desperation writ large on my face, and asked him hesitatingly, “Umm…uh...Any idea which way is the toilet for women?”

“Uh…umm…,” he was obviously unsure. “I do not know, but I will find out and let you know.”

I returned to my desk and again started passing vouchers, lifting a heavy ledger each time, side-initialling the entry and then dumping it on the nearby tripod.

In a few minutes, which felt like an eternity, AC came to me on the pretext of handing over some vouchers and, while doing so, whispered softly, “There is no toilet for women here in the branch.” I felt highly desperate, but he offered a brilliant solution. "The residence of the Branch Manager is located at the back of the building. At lunchtime, you could go there, introduce yourself to his wife and use their toilet. The boss does not go home before 2.30."

I felt so relieved to hear this. Fifty years have passed since this, but even today, I am grateful to AC for his out-of-the-box thinking and for providing a solution when I needed it the most.

As the clock in the banking hall struck two and the public dealings got over, teetering on the brink of physical discomfort, I headed straight to the residence of the Branch Manager, introduced myself to his wife, used her toilet and breezed out merrily, well before her husband arrived for lunch at 2:30pm.

This routine continued for a few weeks until the lady decided to visit her parents to attend the wedding of her brother. I was once again in the throes of loo blues.

By this time, I had become more adventurous and decided to hunt for a toilet in the building. Having lived during my childhood in huge British-style bungalows, I was confident that there had to be some toilet hidden somewhere in this sprawling property.

I decided to undertake a discreet survey of the labyrinthine layout of the building and started scouring every recess of the building during lunchtime when most employees were away. If somebody ever asked me what I was doing, I told them I was trying to familiarise myself with the premises. The search yielded no results in the first few rounds, adding to my disappointment.

The departure date of the first lady was inching closer, and the frustration level within me was mounting up speedily. The issue here was I had not learnt to share my problems with anybody and always thought I had to resolve them myself.

Just as I was about to give up, Lady Fortune smiled at me, and what I found was indeed nothing short of a pot of gold.

Having explored every nook and cranny of the premises, I reached a secluded part behind the building. Lifting my saree up with both hands, I treaded over piles of dry leaves and rat holes, peering at the ground, scared of encountering a snake at every step. One day, I reached the farthest end of the building, where I saw a hidden alcove and a seemingly abandoned door beckoned me. I pushed it gingerly. Its hinges creaked and sang an eerie tune. One more push and the door opened.

When my eyes adjusted to the darkness in the room, I could figure out that it was perhaps an abandoned bathroom, a sort of small cubicle with a round hole for a drain. And the door could be latched from the inside, providing much-needed privacy. As my eyes got used to the darkness, I stared harder. I also noticed two bricks placed side by side and a small tap.Voila! I jumped with joy: it was an eureka moment for me. I found what I was searching for... my very own private toilet.

My new toilet was unkempt but I did not care. It was dirty but I could not be bothered. It did stink, but I could not care less. It was pitch dark except for a thin streak of light from above the door. The huge comfort was that it had four walls around it, which provided me a modicum of privacy. It was the only reality that mattered at that moment. During the next five months, that crude, dark, mostly waterless and stench-ridden room became my instant luxury toilet. It was my fortress of solitude. I never felt so happy even while staying in Hotel Conrad, a five-star luxury hotel in Tokyo and using its most sophisticated toilet as I did on finding this amazing discovery in the remotest abandoned corner of Faizabad branch premises.

Loo blues were plenty in future postings also, but finding this personal toilet after days of tireless exploration in the wilderness was one of my most cherished secret achievements.

(To be continued...)

*****